


december 1998

by catarinquar



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, emily au, xmas advent calendar prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 20:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17128199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catarinquar/pseuds/catarinquar
Summary: Maggie breathes a shaky sigh. “I may be conservative, but I’m not blind, and I could never begrudge you your happiness. Are you happy, Dana?”How much things have changed since they stood like this in Bill’s kitchen last year. Arms around her mother's neck, sudsy hands at all, Scully nods. “Yeah,” she breathes, “I’m happy. I’m happy."-AU. emily lives, mulder and scully are doing just fine. and it's christmas.





	december 1998

**Author's Note:**

> fills out the [xmas advent calendar prompt list ](https://only-txf-fanart.tumblr.com/post/180724834306/philes-xmas-advent-calender).

 

_1st - christmas cards_

 

“Dana, this one is for Rebecca,” he hears as he enters the apartment. Emily is sitting tailor-fashion on Scully’s desk, stockinged feet peeking out beneath her legs.

“Okay. Hey, Mulder,” Scully says over her shoulder. “We’re writing Christmas cards.”

“Hi.” He sneaks in a kiss on the corner of her mouth before Emily grabs him by the sleeve and holds up a drawing.

“I’m sending cards to my friends in San Diego, see? This one is for Rebecca,” she repeats. She’s like her mom that way; informative, making sure you _get_ it. Helpful.

The drawing shows a Christmas tree, a figure he recognises as Emily’s crayon-self, and another he assumes must be Rebecca. Sweet. “That’s a nice drawing, Em. I’m sure all of your friends will be happy for these.”

Emily nods, turning the card over in his hand so he can see the message written there in a child-friendly adaptation of Special Agent Scully’s neat script. “Dana writes for me, though. I just tell her what.” Mulder looks at _Dana_ , who is watching them from her serious office chair, in her faded jeans and his Oxford sweater. Minimal makeup and wavy hair; this is Dana Scully, and she’s two seconds from the giggles. Emily grabs his wrist for attention again. “She can write for you, too, if you’re sending Christmas cards to someone.”

And there it is. “I’m sure Mulder can write his Christmas cards himself, sweetie,” Scully laughs. She reaches for an envelope, writing this Rebecca’s address on it. “The hard part is finding someone he’ll write to.”

“I was just thinking,” Mulder starts, but he wasn’t, really. It’s more like _feeling_. “What if I wrote my Mom?”

Scully looks up, the eyebrow quickly giving way to a careful but genuine smile. “I think she’d like that, Mulder.”

 

 

_2nd - hot cocoa_

 

In his own apartment, noises from the street will drift in and mix with the bubbling of his fish tank, lulling him to a rest even when sleep remains elusive.

In Scully's apartment, the unhurried ticking of the antique clock hanging above the mantelpiece has him awake in the witching hours.

In Scully's apartment, the fridge hums and he looks along the sightline of his legs, between his feet where they're propped on the armrest of her striped sofa, to see her seated at the kitchen table with her sleeping daughter in her lap. The glow from Emily’s night light is reaching out to play, but Scully’s face is hidden in her daughter’s strawberry blond hair.

The two of them work their magic and magnetism stronger together, and he’s crouching by the chair before he knows it. Before Scully knows it, too; she twitches when he touches her arm, but doesn’t look up. “Hey,” he whispers.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. She have a nightmare?”

“No, uhm…” Scully sniffles and turns her head, just enough that he can see her red-rimmed eyes. “I did.”

It doesn’t take a hell of a lot to imagine about what when his are so often made of the same stuff; when he was right on the other side of the connecting door after her abduction, after Pfaster, after Schnauz; when she would ask him to stay, sometimes, to make sure the cancer didn’t kill her in her sleep; when she’s picked her sleeping daughter from her bed to sit here and make sure the girl is alive, is real, is human.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Between the two of them, the question is a ritual; _can I help? No, I’m fine_ , and so her answer surprises him.

“Someday. Right now, I just want -” she bites her lip, choking back a sob. He’s amazed Em is still asleep; Scully is shaking and clutching the girl’s flannel pajamas in a white-knuckled grip.

He gets up to kiss her cheek, stroke Emily’s hair. “I think you should put Emily back in bed, yeah?” He would do it himself, but having her daughter taken from her, no matter by whom, is the last thing Scully needs right now. “Where do you keep your tea?”

He knows where she keeps the tea, and she knows that he knows. She also recognises the question for what it is, takes a deep breath, and plays along; “cupboard above the stove.”

“Get Em back to sleep, then I’ll make some tea. I happen to know you’ve got a real nice sofa over there -” she smiles at that, just a little; he’s the expert there, after all, “- where we can sit. We don’t have to talk, we’ll just sit and drink our tea. Okay?”

Deep breath again. “Okay.”

He looks after them until they disappear into Emily’s room, then moves to shuffle through the options in the cupboard. Earl Grey, green tea, rooibos, chamomile. He settles on the most potent comfort brew; a tin of hot chocolate mix.

 

 

_3rd - snowman_

 

“This is some talent, Scully,” Mulder finally says. It’s an exaggeration of proportions; Emily has drawn a snowman and two blops that look suspiciously like aliens. Green. Still, Mulder seems - God, almost _touched_ by the sentiment, and Scully can’t blame him; she still gets a lump in her throat every time her daughter - _her daughter_ \- hands over a new sketch. “She drew this for me?”

“Well, no, but the fridge only has so much surface area, and I’m happy with my wallpaper as it is, so I suggested she give it to you,” Scully admits, leaning against Mulder’s desk. “Which is where the little green men came into existence, naturally.”

“Naturally,” he laughs, getting up from his chair. “Well, I’m very thankful, and naturally, this belongs right here -” he tacks the drawing in place on the corkboard, “- with everything else remotely extraterrestrial.”

Extraterrestrial. Right. She’s been meaning to tell him, she really has. When he sits down again and swivels the chair back, she leans a little closer. “Mulder?”

He blinks. “Uh-huh?”

“Emily is staying with my Mom until Sunday, so,” she smiles; _this_ part isn’t so difficult after all, “I’ve got the apartment all to myself, if you want to come over this weekend.”

Blinks again. “I’d love to.”

 

 

_4th - snowglobe_

 

He only stopped by his apartment to pack an overnight-bag, get some clean clothes for the weekend - but then he has to dig deep in the closet for a pair of warm socks, and the box of Christmas decorations comes tumbling out.

He hasn’t ever made much of it, decorating. Not since.

As it is, most of the stuff in the box is for the aquarium; Christmas trees and presents for the fish to hide in, a Santa Claus that’ll bop up and down in the water like the UFO. Star-shaped fairy lights, for fuck’s sake; those are all the way from Oxford.

But underneath the clutter, there’s a snowglobe. Generic and with scratches on the glass, but he shakes it and remembers: this was Samantha’s. This is important.

It goes in the bag with his jeans, woollen socks, razor, and toothbrush.

They’ll talk about the fish tank, someday.

 

 

_5th - fireplace_

 

They’re gravitating towards each other again, on the rug in front of her fireplace. Warm from the flames, warm from Ahab’s good scotch, warm from kissing. Her flushed cheeks and swollen lips are a distraction, but this is it; this is the important thing they’ve both been waiting for her to put into words.

“I can’t tell you how much she means to me, Mulder. How much I love her. I could never blame her…” she lifts her head to look at him, still so close, and with the light from the fire playing in her hair and casting shadows across her face, he can barely concentrate on listening. “But it is hard, every day, to have to reconcile that love with where she came from. With what they did to me to create her.”

 _With_ what _they created_ , _with_ what _she is_. He hears what she can’t say, even now, and leans closer until their foreheads touch. Thinks at her, _she’s your daughter_. “With the things that had to happen so you could get her back.”

She draws back with a half-sob, half-laugh. “Rebecca, Emily’s friend… they, uh… they wanted to petition for adoption.”

“You never told me.”

She shrugs. “They didn’t actually do it. And you and I were…” she trails off, eyes flicking.

They were not in place where she would have told him something like that; _we could get married, if it gives you a better chance_ can do that to two people. He imagines _the offer still stands_ could as well, but someday - someday, he’ll ask her again, and do it properly.

For now, he draws her closer, but she twists in his arm and kisses him, once, twice, for what feels like hours.

She hums into his mouth. “Mulder… are we drunk?”

“M’not. Don’t know about you, lightweight.”

“No,” she husks, pushing him down on his back before straddling him, “no, I just wanted to make sure I’m not taking advantage you.”

 

 

_6th - family outing_

 

Scully can’t prevent the smile; she doesn’t even bother trying. Beside her on the bench, Maggie sighs. It’s not a _Mom is disappointed_ -sigh, just a - _Mom is slightly perplexed_ -sigh.

“She presented me with no less than seven crayoned aliens yesterday,” her mother says.

Scully scrunches her nose; it _is_ getting a little ridiculous on her own fridge as well. “I think she’s practicing for the masterpiece she wants to give Mulder for Christmas.”

“She’ll have to change colour scheme. Isn’t he always saying they’re little _grey_ men?”

Scully laughs. “You sure notice things, Mom.”

“Of course I do.” Maggie nods towards the lake. “Right now, I’m noticing that Fox is very good with Emily.”

He’s crouching beside Emily, sacrificing his trench coat in the mud to be on her level, and holding the paper bag of stale bread open for her. Scully and her mom are too far away to hear what they’re saying, but Emily’s loud, excited squeals reach them.

It’s all she could ask for. Sometimes - sometimes, she can’t help but think it’s _more_ than she could ask for. More than she deserves. “He is,” she manages.

They sit a while longer before Maggie hugs her daughter goodbye, reminding her of the dinner invitation for next Saturday.

Scully begins walking down towards the lake, but stops half-hidden behind a tree when she comes within hearing distance.

Emily is pointing at a mallard. “That one’s pretty! Why’s it so pretty?”

“The one with the green head?” Mulder asks. “It’s a male.”

“The _male_ duck is the pretty one?”

Mulder laughs. “Yeah. It’s got to impress the ladies, same as with humans.”

Emily whips on him. Scully can’t see her face, but she can imagine the expression, eyebrow and all. “But you’re not pretty.”

“You wound me, kiddo.” He looks up, eyes landing on Scully, and that’s where Emily has yet to learn a few things: Mulder’s easy, wide grin is oh, so pretty. “Hey, Scully, come on down here. Dimorphism, that’s biology - your area. Teach your kid some, won’t you?”

“Let’s start with exhibit A,” she says, holding his gaze as she joins them in the mud. His smile, his eyes, even his nose - “a very pretty man.”

 

 

_7th - xmas movie_

 

“Alright, Em,” Scully says as the end credits from _Home Alone_ begin to roll. She reaches for Emily’s hand. “Sleepytime, come on.”

Emily - who’s been wide-eyed and giggling the whole evening, a curious kid fascinated by the intricate schemes in the movie - burrows deeper in her blanket cocoon. “Nuh-uh,” she shakes her head, puts on the puppy-face. _I’ve tried that, kiddo_ , Mulder thinks. _It doesn’t work_. “Can I have juice?”

Scully sighs. “You can have one very small glass of juice, but then it is absolutely bedtime. You’re up way too late already.”

Emily snickers and sticks her tongue out at Mulder as she climbs down from the sofa, following her mom to the kitchen.

From his spot on the floor, one arm resting on the sofa cushion behind him, he calls, “Scull- _eh._ ”

She turns. “Yeah?”

“They’re saying we’ll get a pretty bad snowstorm tonight.”

“So?”

“So? So, it’s a very, _very_ bad snowstorm.” He winks at Emily, who’s bouncing on her toes beside Scully. “A _we can’t go anywhere so we might as well sleep in_ -snowstorm.”

She narrows her eyes at him, and he puts on a puppy-dog smile of his own. _Yeah, I’m corrupting your kid, Agent Scully. What of it?_ She must think the same; the corner of her mouth twitches. “So?”

“ _So_ , that means we might as well stay up late and watch another movie.” Emily is practically jumping now. “Get Em a proper glass of juice, I’ll get _A Christmas Carol_ ready.”

Scully shakes her head, laughing. “You two are both incorrigible.”

 

 

_8th - snowstorm_

When he wakes again, his left arm is numb, circulation cut off by Scully’s head resting on his shoulder. Emily, in turn, is curled in Scully’s loose embrace, neck tipped backwards over her mother’s arm.

Em can’t be comfortable like that, but he doesn’t have the heart to wake either of them; the crick in his own neck is melting away at the sight.

The clock is ticking towards 10 a.m., but what he can see of the sky outside is still dark with clouds, and though the howling storm has died down since earlier in the morning, the snow is still falling.

The back of Scully’s hand slides down his chest. “Hm, Mulder… we fell asleep,” she mumbles before coming fully awake with a jolt. “Jesus, what time is it?”

He chuckles. “Nearly ten. Don’t worry about it, I already called and said we wouldn’t be able to make it in today.”

“But -”

“No _buts_.” He extracts himself before guiding her down on the sofa. She stubbornly stays up on her elbows. “Even your leadfoot can’t do much about the snowfall we’ve had,” he says, indicating where the snow is packed up against the outside of the window panes. He cups her jaw. “Sleep a little longer, I’ll take care of breakfast.”

She looks like she’s about to challenge him on that one, but he has no intentions of messing up her kitchen; in fact he’d been thinking about walking to that bakery with the fancy bread just around the corner. That's a surprise, though.

Scully looks down at Emily who’s slept through the jostling and is still nestled against her. She turns her head to kiss his hand. “Alright.”

When he picks up his sweater beside the sofa after a quick trip to the bathroom, they’re both fast asleep; Emily’s back spooned against Scully’s chest.

 

 

_9th - skiing_

 

This is a horrible idea, he doesn't even need Scully to tell him that. If she were here, she might just withdraw his child-care privileges.

Scully’s got an appointment with a Jane Doe today, though; slicing and dicing. So, it's just him, Emily, and two homemade pairs of skis. At the top of a hill. A small hill, but a hill nonetheless.

“Alright, Em, are you ready?”

Emily works the soaked edge of her balaclava out of her mouth. “Uh-huh.”

She's not supposed to do that; chew on the balaclava, but he always has a hard time enforcing Scully's rules for the kid. Psychology degree puts ten dollars on it being more than tangentially connected to this outrageous idea.

“Alright. Alright, remember, I've got your shoulders here, but you can't let go of my wrists.”

“Uh- _huh_.”

And with that, she jerks forward, sending them flying down the hill. Mulder is not sure who yells the loudest.

 

 

_10th - ice skating_

 

For a four-year-old Californian who's never set foot in an ice rink before, Emily is doing remarkably well. She's not fast, she mostly sticks to the edges, and Scully is right behind her the entire time, hovering - but she's doing just fine.

No tailbone-bruising falls, no collisions, no cut-off fingers.

It only happens when they step out of the rink: Emily's skate disappears beneath her, and her knee connects with the steel edge before Scully can catch her.

She steps over her, shushing and _sweetie-_ ing through the seven seconds it takes her to discard her own skates before picking Emily up and walking away from the gate.

“Ssh, baby, it's alright. God, I'm so sorry, sweetie,” she says, on and on and on, until Emily's crying slows to a sniffle.

She hiccups, points to her knee. “I made a hole in my snowsuit. Dana, it's bleeding, see?”

 _Breathe_. “Yeah…”

By the time they're in the car, skates traded for shoes, Emily is examining her knee, poking and stretching the skin around the wound. Slicing and dicing.

They weren't supposed to see each other after work today; just for a healthy breathing space, for Mulder to do his laundry - but his place is closer if only by five minutes, and Scully really, really needs to see him.

By the time Emily is asleep in Mulder's bed that night, cut cleaned and dressed, stomach full of _noodles-no-bromcholi_ , Scully is wrapping herself around Mulder on his couch, legs over his lap.

“Is she alright?” he asks into her hair.

“Yeah. It was mostly the shock, now she just wants to pick at it,” Scully says.

“Doctor Scully better teach her not to, it'll never heal.”

“Hm. Sorry about stealing your bed.”

He chuckles. “It’s alright. I'm a couch-man at heart.”

“Not anymore, you aren't.” She sighs. “I guess I… had just hoped sleeping in your bed would mean sleeping with _you_ in it.”

“Someday,” he promises, and she thinks the word on repeat until he speaks again. “Are _you_ alright?”

She can taste the instinctual _I'm fine_ at the back of her throat - but she came here to _tell_ him. “I think so. I, ah - when she said she was bleeding, uhm… and it was red… all I could feel was relief.”

He kisses her temple, and she twists to look at him, search his eyes; _what does that make me?_

“Dana Katherine Scully,” he says, not letting her look away, “you are, without a doubt, the best mom Emily could wish for.”

“I'm not her Mom, though. I'm her _Dana_.”

“Yeah, s'what I said.” He draws her closer again. “Her Mama.”

 

 

_11th - snow fort_

 

The snowball hits her square in the chest, small crystals flying up to flick her cheeks.

The flare of anger melts away when she spots Mulder and Emily atop a snow fort, high-fiving.

“Incorrigible,” Scully calls.

Mulder shrugs. “You're encroaching on our territory.”

“Don't try to tell me you two build this in -” she checks her watch, “- under two hours.”

“Nope. Bought it fair and square from a gang of kids, ten bucks and a bag of candy canes.”

“Mulder!”

“Kidding. We just stumbled upon it.” He shrugs again, “whoever built it must have already gone home.”

“Well, my car is stocked full of Christmas presents now, so I'm ready to go home, too. What do you say, Emily?”

Emily says _nuh-uh_ before letting loose a barrage of poor-aimed snowballs. “You have to come up here first, Dana.”

“Fine.” Scully walks around the back of the snow fort, only to find Emily blocking the stairs. “I can't get up there if you don't move, Em.”

“It costs something.”

“Yeah? What's it cost? You're not getting your presents early, sweetie.”

“No, it costs a kiss,” Emily says and, as Scully leans in to comply, points to Mulder. “You have to kiss him, too.”

Mulder snickers.

 

 

_12th - family dinner_

 

She’s just finished scrubbing the last plate when her mom sighs, beginning act two in a play where act one consisted of _I’m glad you liked it, Fox_ and _Dana, would you help me with the dishes?_

“I know I was - hesitant at first, but Emily is a wonderful little girl. Make no mistake, I love that I get to spend so much time with my granddaughter,” Maggie says.

“I’m glad.” It was more than that, of course; Scully had been terrified to let Emily out of her sight, but she appreciates her mother’s acknowledgement. She also knows that it’s not what Maggie wants to discuss.

“She seems like a happy child. I think you’re a wonderful mother for her.”

Scully drops the fork she’s rinsing. Her own mother's approval means more than she’d have thought it would, and God knows she tries her best, every day - but she can’t help wondering whether Emily will ever think of _her_ as _mother_ , let alone refer to her that way. She swallows. “Mom, can you please just - get to what you’re trying to say?”

“I’m getting to it. How long will you be working part-time?”

“At least until Emily’s in kindergarten.”

“Is that financially responsible?”

“It’s worked out alright for a year, now. Mom -”

“Right, right. Fox is around often, isn’t he?”

“Yes, we see him a lot. He, uhm. He stays over, sometimes.”

“Do _you_ see him a lot, Dana?”

“I work with him, Mom.”

“And you drag him along for Saturday dinners at your mother’s house, _which_ -” she stresses as Scully opens her mouth to interrupt, “- I have no objections to. He’s a good man, he cares for you, and if he tends to… well, unlike your brother, I believe that you follow Fox by your own choice, Dana, no matter how much I may wish you would choose differently.” She breathes a shaky sigh, turning to face Scully. “I may be conservative, but I’m not blind, and I could never begrudge you your happiness, darling.”

Scully swallows against the lump in her throat again. She throws her arms around Maggie’s neck, sudsy hands and all. “Mom…”

“Are you happy, Dana?”

How much things have changed since they stood like this in Bill’s kitchen last year. Scully nods over her mother’s shoulder. “Yeah,” she breathes, “I’m happy. I’m happy.”

 

 

_13th - gingerbread cookies_

 

Maybe her faith isn’t as strong as it once was, before flukemen and mothmen and alien conspiracies - but at least she can still leave church with a sense of calm, and that is _lucky_.

If not for her, then for Mulder and Emily.

The entire apartment smells heavenly, but the kitchen is covered in flour.

“You’re home,” Mulder comments, coming out from the bathroom. He has been generously dusted himself, so to speak. “I, uh - Emily is, uh - soaking in the bathtub.”

“I _am_ home, although I have to say barely recognise home.” Oh, she _is_ pissed, but it is so funny to watch him like that, sheepish and with flour in his hair. “Please tell me, Mulder, does Emily’s need for a soak on a Sunday morning have anything to do with why my kitchen looks like a cheap winter wonderland?”

He nods towards the cooling rack. “Well, yeah. We… made gingerbread cookies.” He clears his throat, “with some amount of success.”

 

 

_14th - mistletoe_

 

They no longer bring photographs home to Scully’s apartment; neither of them would want Emily to come across the horrors they sometimes have to work with.

Casefiles, walls of text, a little light bedtime reading - that’s still the name of the game.

Except on a Monday night when they’ve been at it for three hours. Mulder went from children’s stories to murder profiles, and now he’s doodling in his notebook.

Scully’s feet are in his lap, but she’s reading and highlighting, all Special Agent with her silk shirt and cute little glasses.

Mulder turns to a page in the back, scribbles, and tears it out to hold it above his head.

“Scully, look here.”

She holds up an ink-stained finger. “Wait a second…” and so he does, until she looks up, squinting. “ _Mistletoe_ , Mulder? Really?”

“Uh-huh. Means you gotta kiss me, you know.”

And God, does she ever.

 

 

_15th - horse sleigh_

 

She’s dusting off the mantelpiece, as you do, when the snow globe grabs her attention, just begging her to shake it - as they do.

Mulder had seemed almost apologetic when he asked to put it up, _I know it’s generic_ and _I don’t mean to, uh, get in your space, but…_

But clearly it means something to him. She watches the snow settle around the horse sleigh inside the peaceful bobble.

With a few notable exceptions, he can get everything in her space.

 

 

_16th - christmas tree_

 

“Wow. You got the Christmas tree up.” Mulder clears his throat. “Isn’t it a little early?”

“Well, Ahab never let us keep it up for long, so I guess I’m just - making the most of it now,” Scully shrugs.

“I just mean, will it last?”

“It’s plastic.” She shrugs again, shoots him a look as if awaiting disapproval. “I figure it’s just easier that way, when you’re in an apartment and in the city.”

When he looks closer, he can see that it is indeed plastic. It makes sense, though; of course practical Scully wouldn’t want to deal with the logistics - or the shed needles. What surprises him is the decorations. There’s no colour scheme; no system; every single bulb looks to be unique. He would suspect some of them were Melissa’s.

“Oh, sure. This is perfect, Scully.” He puts an arm around her shoulders. “One day, though, we’ll live in a little house in the middle of nowhere and celebrate Christmas with a big, fancy Norway spruce from our backyard.”

By the look on her face, he wouldn’t say she seems averse to the idea.

 

 

_17th - shopping for gifts_

 

He’s been snooping around, a little. At least it feels that way; having his own shelf in the bathroom cabinet doesn’t necessarily mean you’re welcome so sift through all the drawers, but -

He knows her perfumes, her scents, her lotions and potions and her bubble bath bottles; in the last few weeks, he’s pilfered more of her cherry blossom body wash than he thought an Armani Man such as himself could get away with in a whole lifetime, but he loves it, and it’s a safe gift she would appreciate.

He doesn’t just want her to appreciate it, though. He wants it to _mean_ something, like the keychain she managed to explain when he couldn’t.

It’s just that last year she got a daughter for Christmas, and he’s not quite sure how to top that one. He’s not quite sure it’s his place to try.

 

 

_18th - mittens_

 

At work, in the office, in the field - they’re professionals. Easy around each other as they’ve been since the start; maybe he stares a little, sometimes, and maybe Scully does, too - but no one else can tell the difference. Mulder knows the office pool is still going, anyway.

This could change that, except the basement is theirs and theirs alone as always; no one is here but the FBI’s most unwanted, wanting each other.

She’s already got her mittens on, and as she draws his face down, he longs to feel her skin. He’ll get to, he knows -

Her lips, he knows.

“See you tonight?” she asks against the corner of his mouth.

He kisses _yes_ against hers.

 

 

_19th - woolen socks_

 

“What are you doing up so early, kiddo?”

Emily continues her climb up the chair, undeterred, and turns the stove on. Mulder’s not sure she quite knows what she’s doing.

“I want to make pancakes,” she says, turning another knob up, then down, then up again, and she _definitely_ doesn’t know what she’s doing. “Dana likes pancakes for breakfast.”

“She does, and, uh - that’s very sweet of you, but don’t you think you could use some help?”

She climbs down again. “Okay. I know you need eggs, milk, and flour, and then I don’t know what else, but I also need two rubber bands.”

“You need rubber bands in pancakes?”

“ _No_ , silly.” She points at her feet. “My woolly socks are too big to stay up.”

Mulder isn’t sure how he hasn’t noticed before, because they sure are; comically so, in fact. Even though she’s pulled them up around the cuffs of her pajama pants, they’re bunching around her ankles. And the pattern - huh. “That’s because they’re  _my_ woolly socks, Em,” he laughs.

 

 

_20th - nutcracker_

 

Emily with the corduroy dress, Emily with the Mary Janes and bobby pins - she’s spinning and spinning a few steps in front of them, attracting the smiles of strangers as they stroll down the sidewalk from the theatre to the car.

 _That one’s mine!_ he wants to tell them, proudly and just a little possessively. She is, isn’t she?

Emily slows to a halt. “I’m dizzy,” she heaves.

“That’s what you get for dancing like that, sweetie,” Scully says, letting go of Mulder’s hand to pick her swaying daughter up. He knows Maggie has made some noise about it; apparently at four years it’s high time you stop carrying your child around - but Scully didn’t even know her daughter for the first three, so Mulder figures it’s only fair if they spend some time catching up.

“I have - have to train, though,” Emily insists, “so I can be a ballet dancer and, uh - and dance ballet.”

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh. Because I’m going to be in The Nutcracker when I grow up.”

 

 

_21st - playing board games with family_

 

“One, two, three, four - five, and six,” Emily counts, moving her token on the Ludo board.

She skipped a square. Scully _could_ write it off as a mistake, except it’s the fifth time just this round. She _could_ pretend not to notice, except she doesn’t want to let Emily cheat on principle - and, yes, she's a sore loser. Board games have always been to the death in the Scully family; there is no such thing as just _letting_ the young win.

“You're cheating, Em.”

Her daughter flashes a grin, canary feathers stuck between her teeth. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, you were so.”

Emily sighs, rolls her eyes. “It’s not cheating if you don’t know it.” Quirked eyebrow, and so that’s it; game over, no discussion, except Scully is the master of that expression, and she will not have it turned against her.

“Well, I _did_ see you skip that square, sweetie,” she stops short, wondering, _goddamnit, what are you teaching my daughter -_ “also, who _said_ that?”

Emily shrugs, reluctant to reveal the secret. “Mulder?”

 

 

_22nd - reindeer_

 

“New drawing for the collection, Mulder,” Scully says, walking into the office.

He studies it when she hands it over. “It’s, uhm… a UFO?”

“Yep,” she nods. “Drawn by Rudolf himself, no less.”

Upon further inspection, he supposes he can make out the antlers and definitely the red nose. “Well,” he says, turning to put it up with the snowman and aliens, “it’s definitely creative.”

 

 

_23rd - santa_

 

“You don’t have to dress up and pretend you’re Santa.”

Mulder turns towards Emily. She sitting on the sofa, elbows on knees, head in hands. He feels like the Santa Claus-discussion is still Scully’s domain. “Uh…”

“I’m just saying,” she shrugs, lifts an eyebrow like the tiny-Scully she is. “I know Santa isn’t real, and I know you bought presents last Thursday, and Dana bought presents that Friday where we found the snow fort, so.”

So. “Alright, then.” He pauses. “You know, I think Santa exists, though, as an abstract manifestation of the generosity we all display when we give gifts and spread the Christmas cheer.”

Emily narrows her eyes before flopping back against the cushions. “You’re weird, Mulder.”

 

 

_24th - christmas carols_

 

“What did you think?” Scully asks, taking hold of his left arm as they walk down the steps. He adjusts his grip on Emily, who’s drowsy if not already asleep again against his right shoulder.

What did he think? Well, he’s not converting anytime soon, not changing his stance on organised religion - but he can’t deny the powerful feeling of unity that washed over him when everyone stood up to sing _Silent Night._

Emily’s inherited ability to fall asleep anytime, anywhere is as cute as her mother’s. Scully’s apologetic blushing was as cute as - well, anything.

What did he think? If Scully wants to attend Midnight Mass, he’ll attend Midnight Mass with her.

If Scully wants to get married in a church, they’ll get married in a church -

“It was alright,” he decides, catching her eye and winking. “My favorite Christmas carol is still the black-and-white from 1951, though.”

“Incorrigible,” Scully grins.

 

 

_25th - christmas day!_

 

In the end, it’s just the three of them.

Maggie was supposed to come over, but she was ill over Thanksgiving and didn’t go to San Diego with Scully and Emily as planned; on Scully’s suggestion, she’s spending Christmas with Bill’s family instead, so she can get to see Matthew.

Mulder talked with his own mother on the phone for an entire half hour yesterday, but of course she didn’t feel much like visiting.

Needless to say, it’s still the best Christmas he’s had since Samantha disappeared, little _green_ men be damned.

**Author's Note:**

> [Baby, All I Want For Christmas Is Feedback](https://catarinquar.tumblr.com)


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